Waiting For Something Amazing

Some years ago, a mated pair of swans built a nest on a small island in the middle of a retention pond in the development next to mine in Florida.

People would stop and pull over on the side of the road to get a look at the nesting swan.

And everyone held their breath and waited.

And sure enough, one day, I noticed a large group of people gathered on the sidewalk.  I took my camera and joined them in seeing that yes the baby swans had hatched.  They’re called cygnets, baby swans, which for some reason is a word that always reminds me of royalty and royalty is exactly what you had with these swans because the crowds grew each day and a news truck even appeared.

These swans had their very own paparazzi. 

I have seen so many nesting birds over the years, not just swans, but also Sandhill Cranes, Great Blue Herons, Great Egrets, Anhinga, Black-crown Night Herons, Limpkins, Hawks, Osprey, Black-bellied Whistling Ducks and even Bald Eagles who maintained a massive nest near I-95, about a half mile from where I lived in Florida.

Sandhill Crane babies are probably the cutest and inspire almost swan-like devotion from people who pass by the nest.

Great Blue Heron babies look like puppets—extras from the old show Fraggle Rock.  They are awkward and—dare I say—kinda ugly. 

One year, a woman from my church invited me over to house to see a nest full of wrens that had made a home in a potted plant by her front door.

Another year, another friend invited me over to check out the Screech owl babies that had emerged from the owl box they had installed high in a tree in the yard.

And I thought, oh they are so lucky.  I lived in a condo at the time and didn’t have my own land to cultivate birds.  The closest I came was the woodpecker who occasionally made its way into my dryer vent and started pecking the sheet metal in what would turn into an echoing symphony of hammering.

So I was very happy, a few days ago—Easter Sunday in fact, when I noticed a small, grayish brown bird, what is probably a House Finch, building a nest on top of the porch post outside my living room window.

Sunday and Monday, the poor bird was having the worst of luck with her nest.  She kept trying to incorporate sticks that were just too big.  At one point, I think she even had the remnants of the cable wire the garbage truck had torn off my house the other day.  Over and over, the wind knocked down her nest.  Over and over, she flew down to my porch, picked up the pieces and started again.

Monday, I was very worried, because I knew that Tuesday was forecasted to bring strong storms.  I kept thinking that poor bird would never have a strong enough nest built by then.

Sure enough, I woke up Tuesday morning to rain and wind.  The bird’s nest completely gone.

But then something strange happened, the bird reappeared in the storm.  Wind and rain, thunder and lightning, and here was this little bird, back to building her nest.

And here is the ironic thing … she had an easier time building the nest in the storm than she had in the days prior when there was sun.

Why?

Because the sticks and twigs, grass and other odds and ends, tree-ephemera, were wet and muddy and perfect for molding a nest.

Over the day, the nest grew and grew, looking more and more like a fort, a strong home—one that would provide protection, a perfect place for life to grow.

And I love that I get to watch it all unfold from my living room window.

This past Sunday was Easter.  Mary Magdalene returns to the tomb and finds it empty.  Suddenly she is greeted by a man she assumes is the gardener.  He is, of course, Jesus and Mary is overcome, overwhelmed with joy.

Of course she is happy.

Of course.

But as I watched this bird build its nest the last few days and as I think back to the crowds that nesting birds invite, as we wait for life to emerge from the dark tomb of an egg, I cannot help but wonder something about Mary Magdalene.

On the one hand it makes sense that a grieving person would sit by the tomb or tombstone where a loved one is buried.  My grandfather, my mom’s father, used to do that almost daily after my grandmother died. 

So we can relate to Mary Magdalene going back to the tomb.

But here’s what I wonder.

We know that Jesus’ followers and family were not expecting a resurrection.

But what if Mary was?

What if Mary Magdalene knew something was going to happen?  Maybe she didn’t guess resurrection, but Mary had been a follower, if she had not herself seen every miracle that Jesus performed, we have to assume she at least had heard of them or was aware of them.

What if she believed in her heart that Jesus’ story wasn’t quite over? 

There is a scene in the movie The Incredibles where Mr. Incredible returns home, gets out of the car and in a fit of anger, he accidentally damages the car with his super-strength.  Now truly angry, he lifts the car up over his head and that’s when he sees a little boy sitting on his tricycle watching him.

Times passes, Mr. Incredible comes home from work again, gets out his still-damaged car and sees the little boy once again watching him.  “What are you waiting for?” he asks the boy.

“I don’t know,” the boy says, “something amazing I guess.”

I wonder if that was Mary Magdalene at the tomb.  Was she waiting, perhaps, for something amazing?

I am waiting and I am watching that bird nest outside my living room window.

Waiting for the emergence of life.  Marveling at the wonders of nature.  How good and beautiful things can emerge from destruction.

How love always wins.

How something amazing is always happening.

Amen.